Tenebrae
by Kato Molotov
Summary: It's a meditation: a ritual of taking and giving, an exchange of their mutual reverence and love and lust set to the hymns of him and her.


**I**  
>He lights the first taper, the spark of a matchstrike lighting the room briefly, and he seeks her eyes immediately in the little light available, to make sure she's still with him, to find her playfully-anticipating expression blinking at him from the bed. Castle feels his body react and hears the soft groan he can't help produce as he watches her fasten the black and red bind of leather around the daintiness of her wrists, admiring their stitching lovingly as she does. Droplets splatter clumsily to the floor and some hit his foot, hardening up instantly. Setting the center taper in its place, Castle pinches out the flame, the room dimming a mark of the start of their rite. It's a meditation: a ritual of taking and giving, an exchange of their mutual reverence and love and lust set to the hymns of him and her.<p>

**II**  
>The click of the lock is a stutter of shock in the dusky haze of their chamber, strictly unnecessary except to reinforce the idea of his control tonight, and <em>oh,<em> does it ever add to her excitement. Longing clings to her skin, curling wisps of expectation tingling where the soft suede and weighty leather embraces her skin, padding the bones of her wrists in comfort and confinement. Barely lit by the glow in the candlelit room, he looks to her once more for permission, for reassurance. Readily given. She passes it from her to him in the language shared by two, a slow sliding shut of her eyes, full acquiescence to his will, full trust in his judgment and confidence in the safety of them.

**III**  
>Body stretched long and lithe, hands restrained above her head in a halo of offering, the shadows flickering over her with the swaying light – the sight of it stops his breath. He has to restart himself again, remember how to breathe, focus on the task at hand, play the long game for the grand prize rather than satisfy immediate urges for instant but hollow gratification. He aches to touch as she aches to be touched. But not yet. Soon enough, he'll have his hands on her, the patience she's inadvertently taught him and taught him well these many years seeing a delightfully delectable return, but not just yet.<p>

**IV**  
>Cool air eddies around them, the crispness of late March's last snow swirling lusciously with the soft vanilla scent and the darker burn beneath. They play these games often enough – pleasure, Kate shivers, drawn into the scene as much by not knowing what to expect as by her body's already-growing need. Her flesh pre-empts his touch, tiny tendons lain dormant just underneath her skin jump and twitch with premonition of what's to come. A rivulet of warm cherry-flavored oil drips slowly into the column of her dividing halves, drip-drop-drip-drop on each knot of her spine, spread soon by his rough-hewn palms over the taut canvas of her body, cleansing her of the world outside this and soothing her into a contented trance only he can provide.<p>

**V**  
>He flips her expertly, his legs bracket to her hips, and there's no use in denying or trying to hide how aroused he is already; she knows what she does to him, she <em>knows<em>. The oil pools in the negative space between her breasts which impatiently wait and strain to be touched. She's his. She's his and he can do whatever he wants with her when she's like this and she knows that too, and he reminds her of it and watches her melt at words that should anger her for their crass and frankly pornographic inelegance – the same ones that, in the trust and security of him and her and them, never cease to turn her on. A minuscule rotation of his wrist and the molten matter falls.

**VI**  
>It's almost hot enough to truly hurt, but not quite. The first swollen drop, held high above her as her partner stands to full height over her naked and bound form, hits her skin with a splatter, stinging and painfully hot, then pleasantly warm, then cool and soothing and pulling at her flesh as it hardens on her stomach and she hums her encouragement, asking him without words to continue. The candle tilts again at the will of its master, another drop, and another, and another, and it doesn't feel bad, so she smiles up at him, catching his curious and heated stare. She tries to give it a name, the look in his eyes, like the darkening and rumbling of the sky just before the heavens give and a storm bursts.<p>

**VII**  
>Settling on the bed beside her, he holds the candle closer so the wax is hotter when it hits her skin, observes in fascination as he moves it over her straining nipples and she contorts as much as she can, pleading disjointedly with him for anything and everything. He watches her, watches the impact of his words so vulgar she bites her bottom lip and whines when he calmly tells her what he's going to do to her when he's done, how good she'll feel, how good she'll make him feel. It's not a question; it's just a statement of fact: he's going to have her until she's melted and shaped to him like the wax melts and shapes to her body, from one state of matter to the next and back in an irreversible new state once solidified. Dragging his thick digits through her where she runs for him like melting honey, gathering enough of her juices to drench his fingers, he admires his work so far. First, a taste – one he's waited all night for and fuck if it's not worth it, tangy and smoky and perfect – and the remainder left on his fingers to snuff out another flame, leaving the room a shade darker once again.<p>

**VIII**  
>Can't; she can't take it anymore. Nearly dislodging the new candles from his grip, she clamors to him and a bit of wax hits his bare leg, producing a displeased hiss borne more of surprise than of pain. For a second she thinks he'll punish her for it – and that's not an unappealing idea either, as long as she gets to do this – but he doesn't. She's too excited to think, too maddeningly turned on to care that he's still in charge as she climbs into his lap and maneuvers her cuff-bound hands behind his head, needing his skin to press to hers. Acceptance is immediate, but so too is consequence: he gathers her to him, cradling her chest to chest too innocently to be believed if she were thinking at all. She's instantly relaxed until the burn of molten wax – steadily-melting candles held barely a few inches above her skin – runs down her spine as a steady, quick-freezing river.<p>

**IX**  
>Without warning, Castle slams upward into her, his eyes shutting tightly, blinded anyway by the velvet heat of her surrounding him as he continues to pour the hot liquid over her back. A staccato of sharpened whines slip from her before wavering unsteadily into a moan of fulfillment tinged with just a bit of pain at the force of his invasion. Strong teeth worry the skin of his shoulder. It's her way, he's found, to steady herself, to keep her mind when her body's not in her full control – when she feels it's failed her or when she's happily given him control of it. Sensing her need for a moment to gather her scattered emotions, he stops, putting the flames out and simply holding her to him, rocking his hips just enough to stimulate them both but push her no further towards the outer edge of pleasure.<p>

**X**  
>Overwhelmed and feeling utterly surrendered and surrounded, she drops her cheek to his shoulder, rocking slowly with him, allowing him to shape her to his form, earlier than promised but she takes whole and unrepentant ownership of that. She's too worked up, needs to find something to grasp at, to ground herself so it's not over before it should be. Her bite finds a hold in the skin of his shoulder, and she'll apologize for it later but he'll wear with the pride of men. Slowly she manages to back away from her frenzy, find comfort in his gentle rhythm, the steady burn cascading down her back, in the petting of his hand in her hair.<p>

**XI**  
>Drops on oiled skin become streams of white and ivory from staggered heights. His fascination grows with each droplet that splatters onto the next one, melting into each others' edges and creating new patters. Experimentally, he starts one stream, just from the left of her spine, an elegant arch over the blade of her shoulder, pouring wax in a steady course that fades into droplets. His design takes shape again, almost the same but not quite – the chaos of his latest medium never allows the same pattern twice – on her left. Outlining the jut of her bones in steady streams and scatterings of droplets, he admires his work as he goes. Kate's slowed and labored breathing contrary to the rapid thrum of her once-stopped heart at his chest tells him she's gone straight from overwhelmed to blissed-out.<p>

**XII**  
>The ghastly feathered angel-wings he's crafted for her pucker and pull at her skin as they dry and crack, breaking more with each roll of his hips. The ends of the candles beginning to gutter out and the chilling of the soaking skin at the crossroads of their slowly-writhing bodies are the only markers of the passage of time. Texture and mass build the newly-feathered things upon her back, their weight a direct relationship to the almost-dark of their space, only two little lights remaining. She's drifty and half-gone, the distillation of desire pulsing through her but not ever enough to take her over. Rich and smooth and wicked tones hush into her ear as he tosses the stubs of the outed lights carelessly to the floor, his words a strange union of love and darkness; a heady combination that leaves her whimpering, yanking at her bound wrists still looped around his neck, writhing in his lap in search of desperately-needed friction he's bent on denying her.<p>

**XIII**  
>She knows the rules, he reminds himself, but that makes it no less frustrating to not give in and give her what she wants – what they both want – right now. He has her bound and bare and out of her mind and twisting in his lap, deliciously wet and wanton. And she's always been a Herculean test of his self-control even in the best of circumstances, everything about her calling to him from their fledgling alliance onward, but it's all he can do now to stop himself from pushing her to her back and taking her like an animal until she screams. Oh, she will scream, and soon, but only when he's sealed them together again. The spear of pain pulls a growl from him as he holds the end of the candle between them, just above the sliding skin of their chests, nearly close enough to catch fire to them and he doesn't understand how she likes this so much until the burning stops and the warm honey of pleasure overrides the fast-dissipating sting of pain.<p>

**XIV**  
>It overtakes her by surprise, washing over her in a tide of warmth, her body finds its slow, mind-numbing, convulsing release that doesn't fade out, just holds her in the undertow until she has no sense of time or place. Her need only grows with each time he drags out of her and slides back in again, each joining coming faster and rougher and stronger along with his pounding heart beneath her breast beating faster still. Clever, unsmooth fingers slip between them and bring her higher still, his free fingers never abandoning the end of the light, leaving just enough to see him by. Just enough to silently plead with him for mercy in his eyes before she has to close hers, the effort of keeping them open simply too much when he tips his hand again and what was once pleasurable enough by itself becomes far too much to bear silently. Echoing and sounding distant to her own ears, she recognizes the notes of her own keening scream, a demonstration and test of her vocal limit, the sound that only he can draw into breath when he pushes her this way.<p>

**XV**  
>He waits for her screams to taper off into broken whimpers. Sloppily pinching out the flame, the room goes dimmer still and silver forks erupt into the darkness of his tightly-closed eyes when he begins to move in earnest, bolts crackling to the symphony of her pleasure. Risk of burn no longer between them, Castle's thick arm pythons around her, cracking the solidified panels on her back and feeling the uniquely unpleasant sensation of broken shards of wax crumble around them. He's too far gone to care, listening to her beg him this way, listening to the litany of filth that spills from her, lewd encouragements and appeals to his barely-contained less-civilized side working their salacious magic. At last he finds his release in her, holding her body still as his hips jerk erratically and his eyes roll back entirely when she coils around him, another weak shudder running through her and into him and all he can do is call her name, <em>Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate.<em>

**XVI**  
>By the final light they come down together, exchanging tender looks and touch, no need for words until Kate's legs allow her to stand, not the least self-conscious to his eyes while he gently removes the evidence of their play from her body, skin underneath vibrating with satisfaction and feeling new and acutely sensitive. Pulling the sheet from their bed and leaving it in a heap in the corner, she produces a fresh one from their linen chest and readies the bed while Castle busies himself in the bath, returning with a cool cloth that curries over her with infinite care. He lays her in bed once satisfied with her relaxed and sleepy state, bringing her to his embrace and kissing her unhurriedly, realizing almost as an afterthought that he's not removed her bindings, only separated the link between them to allow her movement. He makes to remedy that, to close out the night the way it started, fishing around for the key on the table beside them when she stops him. Kate just shakes her head no, willing Castle to understand this something sacred when she can't find an articulate answer why as the last glow burns itself out.<p>

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><p><em>Someone told me my fics don't have enough dialogue, so I wrote this.<em>

_Comments, questions, concerns, complaints, and constructive criticisms very much wanted and appreciated!_


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